Don't Eat it all in One Bite

Halloween is traditionally a festive time of the year for most American families. It's an occasion in which to get together with loved ones, devour loads of sugary treats, traipse around the neighborhood wearing demonic costumes, and sing beloved Halloween songs. Unfortunately, I lack a wife and children, so none of these pastimes apply to me, nor have they ever. When I was a boy, my mother frowned upon the holiday and kept me locked in the pantry for the entire night while she dressed as a massive circus clown and handed out candy to the neighborhood chitlins who came knocking at the door. I have a hunch that she consumed more candy than she handed out, because when she'd finally release me from my pantry-prison, her face would be smeared with brown goo that I assumed was chocolate.

Yes, my Halloweens were spent crouched in darkness with my ear pressed to the door of the pantry, miserably munching on tins of Spam and stale saltine crackers that I'd snatched from the shelves above me and listening to the sounds of joyous young heathens enjoying my mother's candy. I've never looked at a can of Spam the same way since.

My usual Halloween consists of sitting on the sofa, enjoying a few stiff chardonnays, and passing out tootsie rolls to the children who knock at my door, but unfortunately due to an unfortunate incident last year, children have stopped coming to my apartment entirely.

A year ago on Halloween, after attending a grueling and terrifying seminar on oral hygiene, I'd decided that it would be a good idea to confiscate candy from the young'uns who stopped by. I certainly wasn't going to be a contributing factor in the decaying of their youthful teeth and gums, so after emptying their bags into a waste basket behind my door, I offered them healthy snacks and pamphlets on oral cleanliness. This didn't go over very well with their parents and after getting into several vicious confrontations, several of which turned violent, the police were summoned and I was arrested and charged with assault, battery, disorderly conduct, indecent exposure, resisting arrest, and driving while intoxicated (when the police showed up, I'd fled my apartment, jumped into my car and attempted to drive away, which didn't work out due to the fact that I was blocked in by several patrol cars...a bad decision in hindsight.). Since then, minors are usually forbidden to come rapping at my door.

This year, when the 31st of October rolled around, I was a bit depressed to say the least. I spent the better part of the afternoon crying bitter tears of despair and watching an NYPD Blue marathon on television.
When the sun started to drop down behind the horizon, I wiped the salty tears from my cheeks and trudged to my bedroom to get dressed. As horrible as this Halloween was, I was still determined to participate in my annual gourd-carving ritual.

When I was twelve, I'd invented a fun and relaxing way to express myself creatively, while still celebrating the holiday in my own way. Apparently, the fall season is a perfect time to buy large, round, orange gourds. I suppose most folks eat them raw or use them to make salads or casseroles, but I use them for carving. I've always loved carving faces and pictures into them with large serrated butchers' knives. It probably sounds like an outlandish and ridiculous activity, but since I wasn't allowed to go begging for candy, it was all I had to keep me sane as a child. I'd journey to the local supermarket and select several of the large orange gourds from the huge pile of them outside the store. I guess people devour these gourds like fresh apples because in order for the stores to stock so many of them at this exact time of year must mean that there's an enormous demand amongst the public. I've bitten into several of them, but honestly I don't see the big deal. When it comes to autumn foods, I'd much rather eat a bowl of soup or some sharp cheddar cheese. I digress.

I pulled on my tight khakis, slid into my favorite Halloween t-shirt (which coincidentally has a picture of a large orange gourd on the front), and crammed my feet into my worn penny loafers. Then I put on my snug toboggan cap and hit the road, carrying a large, frayed gunnysack over my shoulder.

Within the hour, I was standing before the large heap of robust orange gourds that stood in front of the local market. My hungry eyes traveled over many gourds but I was careful not to be too hasty. One needs a perfect gourd when it comes to carving. It has to be large, symmetrical, crisp, and firm in order to take the carving and thrashing that it's to be dealt. I was having difficulty concentrating due to the fact that there were several sniveling young children nearby, crying out for attention like famished baby birds, begging for regurgitated morsels in their nests. I scowled and glanced at a small lad that was stooping to grab an enormous orange gourd from the base of the stack.

"Mommy, can I get this one?" the boy yammered in a high pitched voice.

"Yes, you can get that one," The tired looking mother replied, "Are you sure you can handle it? It's pretty big!"

I couldn't help but laugh loudly at this exchange. Surely this ridiculous lad didn't think he could eat the entire orange gourd by himself. I turned to the child and commandeered the gourd from him fiercely.

"I think you need to reevaluate your decision, you little scamp," I besmirched the child, "Surely you don't think your tiny gut can hold everything that this large orange gourd has to offer!"

I assumed by the shocked look on the mother's face that she was exceedingly grateful to me for letting her son down easily. She was obviously too cowardly to stand up to the young boy. I'd surely saved the child from many inevitable episodes of violent heaving over the commode due to massively excessive gourd consumption. I winked at the child and flipped a shiny nickel in his direction. It bounced off his forehead awkwardly. With that, I turned briskly on my heel and marched off in the other direction to continue my gourd search.

After maliciously smashing several of the larger gourds onto the pavement to test them for sturdiness, I settled on the one that the young boy had been whining about several minutes before. After prying it from the stubborn boy's hands and scolding his mother for allowing such impunity, I placed it into my gunny sack and headed for home. I heard several shouts from other gourd shoppers, saying that I was "a horrible human being" and that I "needed to go inside and pay for my pumpkin (whatever that is)", but I chuckled at their naivety and continued on my way. If the shopkeepers of the establishment intended for me to pay for the gourds, then why would they be placed outside of the store? Regardless of that, I quickened my step and ducked into some trees along the side of the road so as to be less detectable.

I arrived home shortly thereafter and placed my orange gourd squarely in the center of the kitchen table.

From the drawer to the right of the sink, I selected several large serrated steak knives and a gravy ladle to help scoop out the innards of the gourd. Then, I poured myself a stiff Halloween cocktail, which consisted of bourbon whiskey and the remainder of a carton of apple juice, and seated myself proudly at the table, brandishing my shiny knives like a masterful surgeon about to delve into the belly of an unfortunate patient.

Without hesitation, I plunged one of the steak knives deep into the gourd and started vigorously sawing away at the orange flesh like a depraved lumberjack. My usual method is to saw a circular hole in the top of the gourd around the stem so as to provide an entrance for my scooping device. Then I usually proceed to empty the disgusting contents onto the floor to be cleaned up at a much later. This time, however, I chose to start in the middle of the gourd and saw upwards towards the stem. Suddenly, there came a knocking at my door. My concentration was shattered and startled, I jerked the knife out of the orange vegetable, knocking the gourd to the floor and severing my left thumb. I cried out as blood shot from the wound like a horrific red geyser and I leapt to my feet. I stumbled to the sink to run water over the bloody stump, but was thwarted by the orange gourd, which lay directly in my path. My ankle rolled as I stepped onto the vegetable and crashed violently to the floor. I lay there in shock and agony with my cheek pressed against the linoleum and all at once I noticed that the area under my refrigerator was in desperate need of cleaning. I grimaced with disgust, but was brought back to a harsh reality by the repeated knocking at my front door.

With an exaggerated groan, I climbed to my feet and stumbled to the front door. Upon opening it, I was met with several horrified gasps. There, on my doorstep, stood a small boy dressed as some type of wizard. Behind him, stood his young mother and I smiled with recognition as I recalled them from the market earlier that evening. The small wizard immediately started crying and flung his arms around the midsection of his mother, who appeared to be growing nauseous at the sight of me. I glanced down and realized that the entire front of my body was covered in blood and still more blood was pouring from my left hand like some terrible crimson waterfall.

I stumbled back to the kitchen and with trembling slippery hands, lifted the large orange gourd from the floor. Then I carried it back to the front door where the mother and son still stood, frozen in shock. I bent down and placed the bloody gourd at the feet of the boy.

"Don't eat it all in one bite, you little rascal." I said shakily to the frightened youth, winking at him and flipping him a shiny nickel. Blood splattered the front of the wizard hat as the coin bounced awkwardly off the lad's forehead.